


Christening

by battle_cat



Series: Inappropriate Vehicular Activity [3]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Begging, Car Sex, Cunnilingus, Edging, F/M, Furiosa is the most eaten out character in fandom history, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Wasteland Valentines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 18:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6020041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/pseuds/battle_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We should take it out for a test drive,” she says, even though it’s the middle of the night and the lift operators are sleeping.</p><p>“Mm. Can’t take it out until you christen it.”</p><p>“What’s that?”</p><p>“Very, ahh, important Old World ritual,” he says as he sidles up next to her, a breath away but not touching. “Bad luck otherwise.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So in [Zero to Sixty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4983841/chapters/11447485) Max starts rebuilding the wrecked Interceptor and in [Red, Purple, White](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5478653) it's working, and you know this happened in between.

It’s night when he finds his way into her room. She’s taken off her prosthetic and is thinking about changing into her sleep clothes when he appears in the doorway. 

He’s got grease all over his hands. There’s a strange light in his eyes and he’s _smiling_. “Wanna show you something,” he says, nodding his head for her to follow him out of the room. She puts down the scrap she’s been tinkering with and lets him lead her down to the garage.

 

The repair bay is empty this late at night, and their footsteps are the only sounds as he leads her over to where he’s been working on the Interceptor.

He has an actual _grin_ on his face when he turns the key in the ignition and the engine purrs to life. When he flicks a switch and fires up the supercharger she can’t help smiling too.

“You got it running.” She runs a hand over the hood where the engine rumbles. It’s no War Rig, but she has to admit that for a pursuit vehicle, this car is fucking sexy.

His gaze meets hers over the hood, repainted matte black once more. “Check out the interior.”

She looks in the passenger side window and— _oh_.

The version of the car she’d seen towed into the repair bay, War Boys whooping at the shine thing they’d taken from the feral scav, had never had a passenger seat, something long ago scrapped for storage space or trade or fuel. But it has one now. And she doesn’t have to ask to know the gun rack on the passenger side of the dash will fit an SKS.

“Oh…Max…” She isn’t sure quite why it makes her throat feel oddly tight, but… “It’s perfect,” she breathes.

His smile widens.

“We should take it out for a test drive,” she says, even though it’s the middle of the night and the lift operators are sleeping.

He shakes his head no, but he’s still grinning as he turns off the engine and moves around to her side of the car. “Mm. Can’t take it out until you christen it.”

“What’s that?”

“Very, ahh, important Old World ritual,” he says as he sidles up next to her, a breath away but not touching. “Bad luck otherwise.”

“Wouldn’t want you to have bad luck.” He’s so close, his nose almost brushing hers, his soft mouth just a shift of her body weight away.

“And what does this ritual consist of?” she says, although…she’s pretty sure she knows.

In answer he leans in and kisses her, and she feels a pulse of arousal as his hips pin her against the metal. There is so much heat between them with just a kiss, lips and tongues and bodies pressed warm and eager against each other. When they break apart he’s left a greasy handprint on her shirt.

“Mm. Gonna wash up.” His dirty hands press her firmly against the passenger side door. “You stay there.”

He heads for the water station at the back of the bay and she can’t help…admiring…as he walks away. And then she can’t help unbuttoning her trousers and slipping a hand inside.

She’s already wet—truth be told, she’s been wet since he turned the key in the ignition—and her fingers slide easily over her clit as her eyes drift closed and she imagines all the ways he could fuck her on his car.

Standing up, right here against the door. Him flat on his back on the hood while she grinds down on top of him. Her bent over, face pressed against the metal, legs spread as he thrusts into her from behind…and oh, yes, she isn’t sure if she would want that one in real life, but thinking about it is hot enough to bring her off as she plays with herself.

When she opens her eyes he’s standing a few strides away, watching her, hands clean and eyes bright. As he crosses to her he licks his lips and, _unf_ , she can tell they’re both just getting warmed up.

She brings her hand to his face, and she intends to just swipe a wet finger over his bottom lip, but he catches her wrist and sucks her fingers into his mouth, licking them clean with a soft _mmf_ of enjoyment.

His other hand slides down into her pants where hers just was. She arches into his touch, but his fingers do nothing more than tease.

“Wet,” he muses.

She huffs out a breath as his finger flicks lightly over her clit, looks him straight in the eye when she says, “Could be wetter.”

A twitch of a smile, and then he growls and tugs her pants halfway down her thighs.

His hand is back between her legs, and she wants his fingers inside her or on her clit, she wants pressure and fullness, but he does nothing more than trace the line of her sex as he kisses down her neck.

Without her prosthetic strapped on it’s easy for him to pull down the shoulder of her shirt, mouth at her breast and then slide it out to get his lips and his teeth on her nipple, and he’s still being such a goddamn tease with his fingers between her legs; she can feel wetness slicking his hand now, and it’s not lost on her that part of the thrill of this is the potential of someone coming into the garage and seeing her half-undressed pressed up against his car.

His fingers are teasing her clit, so lightly, doing nothing but building up a maddening itch, until she finally moans, “Gods damn it, Max…”

He laughs and nudges her over to sit on the hood, and she actually slides a little, she is so wet. He makes obscene noises licking off his hand in between tugging her pants the rest of the way down, pulling them off along with her boots, and then she’s sitting naked from the waist down on his car.

She leaves a wet smear when he spins her around and maneuvers her to lie down on the hood, and there’s enough room for her to lie back but spreading her legs is tricky with the supercharger in place, until he figures out to hook her inside leg up over it, her calf against the metal. 

“Mm. That’ll do,” he mutters, and a shivery laugh comes out of her; she must look ridiculous but she can’t deny there’s something hot about being spread open like this on the hood of his car.

He looks down at her and shakes his head a little, a stupid smile on his face, like he can’t quite believe this is happening, and then he bends down and his mouth is on her.

It’s so desperately good after so much anticipation; she moans and arches up as he licks into her and in no time at all she feels the first shivery flutter of clenching muscles—and then he stops.

“Argh, dammit, Max, get your mouth back on me,” she hisses as he retreats to sucking at her inner thigh.

“Ask nicely,” he mutters, and she almost kicks him, and as if he feels the held-back impulse in her muscles he wraps a firm hand around the inside of her knee.

“Oh fuck you,” she gasps, and his teeth nip sharply at the inside of her thigh and she _laughs_ , because she knows the game he’s playing and _gods damn him_.

“Ohoho, _fuck_ you—” she starts, and then his mouth returns to her cunt and her words scatter as he works her up to the squirming, shuddering edge again.

When he stops this time she wails, because fuck him and his stupid mouth and his stupid ability to read every twitch of her body and the insufferable urge to tease she had somehow awoken in him—

His tongue flicks over her clit, no goddamn pressure at all, and he’s watching her with that mischievous light still in his eyes, and he knows, he goddamn well _knows_ he’s going to win this game.

He’s back to work, a slow lazy suck on her clit, and when the muscles in her thighs start twitching this time she breaks and finally whimpers, “Please, Max, please make me come.”

He gives a satisfied hum against her flesh and then sucks hard and steady and that’s all it takes, she’s crashing into a long, hard orgasm, messy and noisy and writhing until his forearm pins her hips down against the metal so he can suck every last shiver of pleasure out of her.

She’s still dizzy when she pulls him up, licking wetness off his lips and urging, “Fuck me now,” and he doesn’t have to be told twice to unbutton his trousers and get his good knee up on the hood so he can push into her, and she is so, so wet he makes a soft delighted little huff at it.

They fuck hard enough to rock the car, her leg wrapped around his waist and his sweaty face buried against her neck, until they’re both exhausted.

Afterward he eases to his feet and she sits with her legs spread open around his, enjoying slow, lazy tastes of his mouth while she drips onto his car.

She rests her head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat still pounding through his shirt, warm and alive. She presses into him and feels him return the squeeze with his arms wrapped around her back.

“You’re so good to me,” she mumbles into his shirt. “Even when you are a teasing little shit.”

His laughter rumbles in his chest. “Better be,” he mutters. “You. Hm. Deserve good things.”

Her hand clenches into his shirt. “You do too.”

He helps her slide off the car and stumble back into her pants and boots. The hood of the car is a ridiculous mess.

“Should clean that,” he says.

“Tomorrow.” She wants sleep with his body warm against hers.

“War Boys’ll talk.”

“Let ‘em.” She hooks her fingers into his belt loop and tugs him toward the exit.

“Car’s gonna be damn lucky now,” he says as he wraps an arm around her waist.

“Need all the luck we can get. Next time we’ll do the inside.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short addendum that started as a Tumblr fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a Tumblr prompt: "It could be worse."

They creep back into the garage at dawn. They’re both trying to be quiet but the corners of Max’s mouth keep twitching up and he keeps innocently putting his hands on her back and her hip and her ass on the way down and Furiosa actually giggles at one point before clapping a hand over her mouth.

Ace is already in the garage when they get there. Hard to get up earlier than that man. His mouth does a funny thing when he sees them, like he’s trying to hold in a sneeze.

“Should, uh, check your car, mate.” He nods at Max.

They make their way over to the Interceptor, which in the morning light is quite unmistakably covered with smears of dried fluids that can only be the result of one thing. The dust that always blows in has been rubbed into…very suggestive patterns on the hood.

On the gritty windshield, someone has used a finger to write _WITNAS._

Furiosa cackles. Max blushes down to the roots of his hair.

Ace has followed them, purely to see their reactions. “That was us last night,” Furiosa says, gesturing to the mess. “Writing’s new though.”

“Figured as much.”

“Didn’t…” Max coughs deeply. “Didn’t know War Boys could write.”

“Most’ve the blackthumbs can read and write,” Ace muses. “Manuals, y’know. Spell, not so much.”

Furiosa looks at Max, still a deeply sunburnt color. “It could be worse,” she says. He raises his eyebrows as if to ask, _How?_

“At least they didn’t try to illustrate it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Missed Valentine's Day by a couple hours, but you get the idea.


End file.
